A Dance in Seven Steps
by illsprawl
Summary: “...You're going to get fat,” Watanuki said finally. [Eventual DxW, Silly!fic.]


Holic is not mine.

Warnings are for stupidity, practically-married schoolboys, and Doumeki possibly getting fat.

It's mostly just the two of them being idiotic, but maybe they're working towards a realization.

* * *

Monday afternoon found Watanuki suffering through a Himawari-less lunch hour with Doumeki. Again. The girl had apparently discovered the importance of clubs and other extracurricular activities on her high school transcript because she'd been increasingly absent as of late. He'd actually stopped whining and pining for her several lunches ago.

With nothing cute or pretty to focus on, Watanuki watched grumpily as Doumeki swallowed an entire inari and immediately plucked up another. He tilted his head to the side and gave the other boy a once over before frowning with distaste.

"Hey."

Doumeki paused, chopsticks mere inches from his mouth. On the rare occasions Watanuki felt the need to engage in any conversation that didn't involve shouting or flailing, he usually gave the bespectacled boy his unwavering attention. He waited patiently as Watanuki, who seemed on the verge of saying something profound, worked out the mechanics of civilized human speech and the appropriate volume at which to use it.

"...You're going to get fat," he said finally.

Doumeki lowered his chopsticks.

"No," he replied after a short period of silence, plucking up a plump morsel of rolled egg and nibbling daintily at it instead of devouring the whole thing to emphasize his point. Watanuki rolled his eyes and let out a snort.

"Optimism and metabolism aren't the same thing you big moron," Watanuki replied snootily. "As a matter of fact, you already look like you've gained some weight."

_In muscle_, Doumeki thought a tad testily. He would never admit out loud that he was actually a bit stung by the accusation that he--with his strict upbringing at the temple, long hours of archery practice, and having to protect and rescue Watanuki's scrawny ass several times a week--was packing on pounds of anything but pure muscle.

And although his expression remained as blank and unreadable as ever, inwardly he was a touch annoyed with this sudden, unprovoked burn. He decided to take the course of action that would ultimately end any further snide comments about his physical fitness. He took the rest of the egg in his mouth, carefully set down his chopsticks and tugged up the front of his white uniform shirt to display his solid abs in all their sculpted, masculine glory. He gestured down at them with his free hand. "I don't see a difference."

Watanuki sputtered predictably. After a few moments, however, he surprised the almost invisible smirk off of Doumeki's lips by reaching out a hand and placing it on the taller boy's stomach, giving it a few experimental pats.

The boy then leaned forward, poking at his navel before tracing his index finger in a full circle around his belly button and around each individual ripple, scrutinizing intensely. His expression belied nothing but chagrined interest. Doumeki clenched his stomach muscles a little as a shiver ran up his spine from that curious touch. Had Watanuki had the good sense to look up into the face of the owner of the well-defined abdominals he was currently investigating he would have seen a tiny hint of red across Doumeki's cheeks.

Watanuki usually never touched him.

A few breathless moments passed before the shorter boy became very acutely aware of what he was doing, and in public no less. He quickly snatched his hand away as though the archer's warm skin had singed his fingertips, looking disturbed by his own actions. Doumeki could have laughed at the utter strangeness of it but he was embarrassed himself, and was never one to laugh about much of anything anyway. Except Doraemon.

"...Yeah, well." Watanuki started lamely, cheeks a little pink. "I should still stop catering to you so much. What would you even do if I stopped doting on you?" A derisive snort. "You'd be back to eating instant noodles, and instant miso soup, and convenience store onigiri, and...and natto! Just plain old natto over rice. And then you'd have to grovel! Groveling to me for the perfect bounty that is my cooking!"

Doumeki willed the lingering warmth from the other boy's feather-light touches to go away. He popped an umeboshi in his mouth.

"As if you even deserve any of this. Do you know how difficult it is to prepare two bentos everyday? Well? And especially for a picky idiot with no consideration! You--"

"--Could share your bento with you," he offered after swallowing the tangy fruit.

"...Huh?" Watanuki did not initially look as displeased as Doumeki thought he should have. Of course, the boy quickly flushed and pointed an angry finger at his classmate, having realized where his traitorous thoughts were leading him.

'Ha! Share a bento with you? As if one bento could ever be _enough_ with the way you GORGE on everything! Besides, you already take pieces from my lunch, always trying to steal a bite of whatever I'm eating! I swear, you're like a little kid! It's always the same with you, not one word of thanks--"

Doumeki reached over and plucked a stuffed onigiri rolled in colorful furikake out of Watanuki's lunch box as the boy began his routine flailing, already too engrossed in his ranting to take notice. Or so Doumeki thought, until the volume of the rant increased...

"Get AWAY from my lunch, DOUMEKI. Why should I have to SLAVE AWAY over your ridiculous requests when you keep STEALING FROM MINE, YOU INGRATE? YOU INSUFFERABLE--"

Doumeki reached up and plugged his ears as he chewed placidly on the perfectly stuffed rice ball.

And then, unable to help himself, he let out a tiny noise of amusement.

* * *

I really like Inarizushi, though. Yum.

Please review, since it takes a grand total of like twenty-five seconds tops.


End file.
